As the door slams shut, a smile curls at the corner of my mouth.
Today, I got his signature. Soon, I’ll take more.
Chapter Two
Byron
A Couple of Months Later
“Lopez. Mail.”
Johnson, the guard I’ve come to know too well, slides a letter through the bars. I wince as I shift on the bed, my ribs still sore from thelessonthe other inmates decided I needed last week. The pain gnaws at me, but I’ve gotten used to it. I grunt, pushing myself off the bottom bunk and feeling the weight of the discomfort in my side.
“Today, Lopez,” the guard snaps again. I shuffle my feet, keeping my hand pressed to my left side, trying to ease the ache.As I reach out to take the letter, I notice Luigi, my cellmate, watching me. His eyes never leave me. I don’t say much these days, mostly because I don’t want to keep asking Gabriela for money. I know how tight things are for her back home, and I’m not about to add to that burden.
With a grunt, I grab the letter from Johnson’s hand. I don’t open it immediately, but when I do, the familiar scent of her perfume hits me—a sharp reminder of what I’ve lost and the distance between us.
Big Brother,
I want to start this letter by saying I miss you. It’s been six months, and it hasn’t been easy. But this... this is the hardest thing I could ever do, and I’m so sorry for not having the money to call you or visit to tell you this in person.
Dad died. He suffered a heart attack, and he didn’t make it. I’m scared, Byron. I don’t know what to do. The shop was taken back by the bank. I can’t pay the bills, and I’m lost without him.
I’m sorry. I really am. I’m trying to keep it together, but I don’t know how much longer I can.
I love you. I hope you’re okay.
—Gabriela
I freeze, staring at the letter. My hands tremble as I fold the paper, crumpling it in my fist. My chest tightens, but I can’t let the tears fall. Not now. Not for him. The anger rises, a familiar burn I’ve carried since I was a kid.Dad.That man. The one who thought a belt was the answer to everything. The one who never saw me as anything more than a tool to break, to control.
“Yo, you good?” Luigi’s voice snaps me out of the haze, and his hand reaches for the crumpled paper in my hands. Before I can stop him, he’s pulling it from my grip and running his fingers over it. His touch is too gentle for my taste. My jaw tightens as he reaches up, his thumb brushing over my chin.
I shove him back. “Get the fuck away from me,” I hiss, the words more animal than man. His eyes flicker with something—disappointment, maybe—before he steps back, quiet. The silence feels louder than anything he could say.
I lay back on my bunk, closing my eyes, trying to shut out everything. Gabriela’s words echo in my head, but I can’t feel them. I can’t feel the same pain she feels. Only the anger. The rage.
I try to block her out and focus on the memory that still haunts me—the one I can’t escape.
The door to my room swings open just as I begin to stroke my cock, it in one hand and the picture in the other.
“Mira. Look at this.” My father’s voice is sharp, commanding. He grabs me by the ear, dragging me into the living room. My cock is still in my hand, and I can barely register what’s happening. The picture of my friend’s cock slips from my grip, crumpling as it hits the floor.
My mother gasps, her voice trembling. “Don’t hurt him,” she whispers, trying to move between us. But he shoves her aside like she’s nothing more than a nuisance with a flick of his wrist. Then he shoves me into the room, his grip like iron.
“You wanna act like a bitch? I’ll show you what it’s like to be one,” he snarls as he moves to pull his belt from around his waist. The first strike lands hard, cutting through me like a blade.
A scream rises in my throat, but it’s smothered by the next blow. The pain blurs everything around me, and all I can think about is the shame—shame I didn’t understand at the time but now wears me down like a vice.
The memory is interrupted when I feel a hand on my neck. My body stiffens instantly. The warmth of it burns into my skin, but it’s not familiar. Not this time. It’s Luigi. I can feel his rough calloused hand snake down my front, then around until hegrasps at my cock. Everything inside me freezes, a shock running through my veins.
“Shh,” his voice comes from behind me, low and almost soothing. “Let me help you feel good.”
I can’t breathe. My mind is screaming. I should push him off. I should fight him. But I don’t.
His grip tightens, and against every part of me that knows this is wrong, my body betrays me. I’m hard. I shouldn’t be, but I am. The shame burns through my chest, but my cock pulses in his hand.
No, I can’t do this. I can’t want this.